


30 Endings (Happy and Otherwise)

by raving_liberal



Category: Glee
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 drabbles from the <a href="http://puckurt.livejournal.com/tag/30%20days%20of%20puckurt%20drabble">30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles in June</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	30 Endings (Happy and Otherwise)

**Author's Note:**

> Patchfire and I organized a "30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles in June" challenge in the [Puckurt](puckurt.livejournal.com) community on Livejournal. My theme was "30 Endings (Happy & Otherwise)" but I borrowed her "30 Breakups" theme for two days. These are largely un-beta'd, non-consecutive, mostly un-connected, not all happening in the same verse, etc. Just drabbles and ficlets. 30 of 'em.

  
**I**   


The wedding is a small affair, or so Kurt keeps telling him. To Puck, it’s unreasonably huge, with far too many flowers and songs and things to remember. Stand here, walk when you hear this music, repeat this part, but not this part, and please, oh please, darling, don’t forget the ring. Puck can’t find his bow tie and panics until Finn fishes it out of the duffel bag. Puck almost forgets the ring, but Finn sticks it into his pocket at the last minute. It’s hotter outside than the weather guy promised and Puck sweats through his suit before Kurt reaches the end of the aisle. None of that matters, because Kurt says he does, and Puck does, too, and the whole small affair disappears in the middle of the kiss and Puck’s personal happily ever after.

 

  
**II**   


Puck knew it would be hard to come out, but he didn’t know it would be this hard. He’d imagined slushie facials, locker shoves, the kind of inane bullying that is rampant in high school but not, he’s always believed, a problem out there in the “real” world. He had thought that if he only waited until after graduation, it would be easy.

“Coming out of the closet.” It sounds like a children’s game, fanciful and costumed. It sounds as simple as rearranging your clothing. In reality, it’s anything but. Puck thinks that Kurt, in a way, had it easy; no one ever doubted, not for even a moment, that Kurt was anything but queer. Despite Kurt’s struggles, and Puck knows Kurt struggled, Kurt has always had family and friends who loved him for exactly who and what he is. Puck doesn’t have that.

Puck knew coming out would be a beginning. He never realized it would also be such an ending.

 

  
**III: Graduation Day**   


Graduation day: the day they simultaneous longed for and dreaded finally arrived.

They gathered in the choir room out of habit. Hands ran nostalgically across the piano keys. Tiny segments of old dance routines were rehashed amidst laughter. “Do you remember the time…?” crossed everyone’s lips at least once. Hugs were traded and no few tears shed, but nobody could put off the inevitable. It was time to say goodbye to the life they’d shared for the last three years.

“Well,” Kurt said, “I guess we’d better head to the gym. Graduation waits for no man, no matter how fashion-forward and fabulous he might be.”

Everyone laughed and they all trickled out of the room in groups of twos and threes, some clasping hands tightly like they were afraid to let go. Puck lingered behind with Kurt and grabbed Kurt’s hand in his.

“You aren’t seriously thinking about doing it,” Kurt said, and it wasn’t really a question, because Kurt knew that Puck was definitely thinking about doing it.

“I have,” Puck explained. “I can’t walk out of here without letting people know the truth about me. I can’t start my adult life like that.”

“But to do it like that,” Kurt gasped. “And in front of everyone.”

“Aww, baby,” Puck smiled, pulling Kurt towards him for a kiss. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about me, but don’t be. I’m strong like you.”

“With a decidedly different approach,” Kurt added.

“Yeah,” Puck laughed. “That.”

Kurt walked out of the choir room, leaving Puck behind him. About fifteen minutes later, Puck came hurrying into the gym and found his seat amongst the graduating seniors, just in time for Principal Figgins to begin calling names. They watched their friends cross the stage one by one. Finn gave Kurt a huge smile and waved his rolled-up diploma from the other end of the stage as Kurt shook Figgins’s hand and took his own diploma. Kurt returned to his seat and waited, heart in throat.

The moment finally came when Figgins called out “Noah Puckerman.”

Kurt saw Puck swallow hard and then walk across the stage. He shook the principal’s hand and took his diploma with a nervous smiled that turned into a huge grin as he stepped to the front of the stage.

“This is for you, Kurt,” Puck said, as he turned his back to the audience and raised his gown to reveal…nothing but what the good Lord gave him, decorated with big, block letters.

Written across Puck’s perfect full moon: I’M GAY.

 

  
**IV**   


It wasn’t what he’d bargained for. Everything seemed so exciting and romantic at first, and it never occurred to Kurt that the long term ramifications might be significantly less exciting and romantic. He could tolerate the apartment, even though it had bugs and the toilet only flushed intermittently. He could handle the drastic cutback in his wardrobe. He could suffer through long hours working at a menial job that was nothing, not even a little bit, like what he’d dreamed he would achieve when he moved to New York. What Kurt couldn’t stand was the knowledge that there was nothing better ahead of him.

Kurt wanted to know there was a future; Puck was content with things staying exactly how they were. Kurt wanted to know this meant something bigger and was headed somewhere brighter. Puck had no vision of where their lives should go. He had no plans outside of working to paying the bills and then coming home to Kurt at the end of the day, and no matter how much Kurt once enjoyed being the reason someone wanted to come home, it started to wear thin after a few months.

He knew Puck wouldn’t understand when he read the note, but Kurt had grown more cowardly with age. Face-to-face goodbyes were for high school, and honey, high school was years ago.

 

  
**V: Chicagoland I**   


Of all the places Puck ever thought he’d run into Kurt Hummel after graduation, a dance club in Chicago wasn’t one of them. To be fair, Puck never thought about running into Kurt Hummel at all. With a few exceptions, such as the time he was flipping through television channels and came across Gypsy on AMC, Puck hadn’t really thought about Kurt at all. Kurt was part of the past, and Puck had worked very hard to leave his past behind him.

It worked, mostly. Puck kept somewhat in touch with Finn via email. Every once in while, Puck actually answered the phone when Rachel called him. She was the only one from Glee club who had his address and whenever a few weeks passed without Puck picking up the phone, he’d find a box of real New York bagels on his doorstep, express shipped and still soft. Rachel’s bagels weren’t part of his past, though, so Puck wasn’t inclined to give them up. Mostly, Puck was happy with his new, history-less life.

Then he walked into the club and saw Kurt Hummel shimmying on the dance floor. The dancing Kurt was taller and a little broader across the chest and shoulders than Puck remembered. He didn’t carry himself like a boy afraid he was going to break if life touched him too hard. He moved like a man who knew exactly who and what he was, like a man who liked more about himself than he didn’t, like a man who wasn’t afraid to wear his past lightly, like the lacy shirt he wore over a skin-tight black tank.

The song transitioned into another with minimal change to the beat, but Kurt seemed to take it as a sign for a break. Puck watched him walking off the dance floor, sliding through the crowd like he had a map to exactly where he needed to be. Some movement seemed to catch Kurt’s eyes, because he turned his head toward Puck. When he saw Puck, his didn’t even look surprised; his face broke into a brilliant and joyful smile as he changed direction and headed towards Puck.

That was when Puck’s life without a past went right out the window…and he didn’t even mind.

 

  
**VI**   


Puck doesn’t want this song to end.

Kurt stands on the stage, auditioning for yet another solo he probably won’t get because Schue won’t get his head out of his own ass, belting out a song Puck think he’s heard before, but can’t quite place. He doesn’t know what it’s called or what it’s about, and he’s pretty sure it’s not even in English. He suspects that Kurt knows he isn’t getting this solo and chose the song based on what he wants to sing, rather than on what he thinks Schue wants to hear.

In Puck’s opinion, Kurt has never sounded better. The song isn’t in Kurt’s upper register, but it still somehow perfectly showcases his voice. The fine hairs on the base of Puck’s neck stand on end when Kurt sings a particular run of notes. Is it in Italian, maybe? Sounds a little froofier than that, so maybe French? Puck suddenly wishes he knew more about foreign languages, because he’d really like to understand what Kurt’s singing about.

The memory of where he has heard this song before niggles at the back of Puck’s mind, but he still can’t pin it down. He equates it with a sense of confusion and tension and longing, a feeling of layers, which, Puck suddenly realizes, is a pretty good summary of how he feels about Kurt. When the song ends, Puck might have to address those feelings a little more deeply, but the song isn’t quite over yet.

Now Puck has another reason why he doesn’t want the song to end.

 

  
**VII**   


The day shift nurse—Chloe? Zoe? Clara? He really can’t keep them straight any more—taps on the door.

“Mister Puckerman?” she chirps in her obnoxiously perky voice. “Your grandkids are here to see you!” The old man glares at the nurse…only they don’t call them nurses here, of course. They call them "residents' assistants." “Mister Puckerman, don’t give me that sour face. It’s your birthday, they want to see you, and you’re going to be nice.”

The door swings all the way open, and Sarah-Beth and her husband Glen walk into the room, clutching wrapped presents and a brightly-colored balloon. Noah forces his face into a smile, because it’s not their fault that he doesn’t want visitors. He hasn’t wanted visitors for months now, not since…

“Happy Birthday, Poppa!” Sarah-Beth says, leaning in to hug him. “How are you feeling?”

“Old,” Noah says, hugging her back. “Don’t need a birthday for that, though.”

Sarah-Beth laughs and it’s enough to make Noah stay on his best behavior throughout the visit. He loves his only grandchild, he likes her husband well enough, and he enjoys hearing stories about their own children, two little girls who have school today, but whom she promises she'll bring next time. By the end of the visit, Noah is tired and relieved that they have to head home.

Once his guests are gone, Noah picks up the frame from his dresser and stares at the two boys in the photograph. They look so happy and in love. They look so young. They were so young, then. After 66 years together, Noah thinks he should probably feel like they had enough time, but in his heart, he knows no amount of time with Kurt would have been enough. The last few months without him have felt like nothing but waiting.

Noah knows Kurt didn’t believe in heaven, but Noah believes. He hopes that, in the end, he’ll have one more chance to prove Kurt wrong.

 

  
**VIII**   


Everyone places the end of childhood at different points: a specific birthday, graduation, getting a first job. For Puck, childhood ended the day he learned to ride his bike.

Your parents tell you to trust them, and you do. You tell them not to let go of the bike, not even a little bit, not even if it looks like you can do it, and they promise they won’t. They promise they’ll keep holding on to you. You believe them, because you know they would never lie to you. They will always be there to hold you up. They will always be there to protect you.

Except they do let go. They let go every single time and you know that’s the end of trust.

The end of trust is the end of childhood.

 

  
**IX**   


_10…9…_

Kurt loves countdowns. The tension, the gradual build, is a thrill he’s enjoyed since he was a small child. His father always counted down the seconds to important events. It made everything that much better.

 _8…7…_

Puck hates countdowns. He likes to get to the good stuff right away and doesn’t like any of the bullshit the prolongs the wait. He’s glad he’s Jewish, because Christmas Eve would probably give him an aneurism.

 _6…5…_

Puck looks impatient, almost brooding, but Kurt thinks Puck has never looked sexier. Kurt wants to wrap his arms around Puck and kiss him, deep and long, but tradition calls for another four seconds, and Kurt loves tradition and anticipation. In four more seconds, they’ll be celebrating the start of another year together.

 _4…3…_

Kurt’s face shines. Puck thinks Kurt has never looked more beautiful. Even in the press of people, Kurt could be standing alone in a spotlight. The lights of Times Square reflect off the ridiculous sequined crown Puck talked him into wearing. Kurt turns towards Puck and in his smile is the delight of a child mixed with the passion of a lover. Puck can’t wait two more seconds. He pulls his boyfriend to him, despite Kurt’s protests, and kisses him, burying his fingers into Kurt’s silky hair.

They miss the end of the countdown. They miss the ball dropping.

They don’t miss the fireworks.

 

  
**X**   


“Are you sure you’re ready for this, babe?” Puck asks. The look on his face could be the poster child for concern.

“As ready as I’m ever going to be,” Kurt sighs morosely. “It’s not like I can exactly put it off.”

“We could run away. We could hide somewhere where they’d never find us,” Puck urges, taking Kurt by the hand and dragging him away from the front door.

“They always find us, Noah,” Kurt says. “Besides, it’ll still happen even if we run. The only difference will be that we won’t have any witnesses.” The idea seems to perk Kurt up a little. “On second thought…”

“Yeah, but no witnesses means no food.”

“I do like food,” Kurt says.

“And no cake.”

“I do like cake.”

“And no presents.”

“I do like presents,” Kurt admits. “I like presents best.”

“Then we’re going in?” Puck asks. Kurt stiffens his jawline, raises his chin, and nods.

“I suppose we must. I never expected it to end like this, though.”

Puck snorts a laugh. “You’re such a drama queen, Hummel,” he says, kissing his husband on the cheek sloppily, much to Kurt’s annoyance. “You’re turning 30. It’s not a death sentence.”

“It’s _another_ surprise party in Lima, Ohio. It may as well be a death sentence,” Kurt says, snippily. “And 30 is close enough to death. It’s the death of my youth.”

“Whine, whine,” Puck mocks. “Just feel lucky that I love you enough to warn you ahead of time. Carole and Burt worked hard on this, so you’re gonna be nice about it. Now, act surprised, will ya?”

“Don’t I always?” Kurt asks.

“Every time, babe,” Puck says, as he pulls Kurt in for a deep kiss. “Every time.”

 

  
**XI**   


It was supposed to get better.

That’s what all those videos said. He’d watched hundreds of them, wondering how long it would be before he’d reach the point in his own life that he could make one, where he could actually look someone in the face and promise them that things would improve for them, that being gay wouldn’t always make them feel like pariahs, that they would one day be accepted by their community, their schools, their friends, their family.

The thing is, it wasn’t getting better. It wasn’t getting any easier. He was just getting more numb with each passing day. The fear and the sadness, the shame and the self-loathing, the endless secrecy and the wondering if this person or that person had figured it out, it was more than he could bear. He couldn’t look people in the face anymore. It wasn’t really going to get better. How could it? He just wanted it all to end.

“Puck?” He hears the voice behind him, soft and heavy with concern. He turns around and his own red-rimmed eyes meet with Kurt’s. “Are you ok?”

Before Puck can help himself, he’s crying, stumbling, and Kurt takes him into surprisingly strong arms, holds him close, whispers meaningless sounds of comfort into Puck’s ear.

“How can you stand it?” Puck sobs. “How do you make it through every day without wishing you were dead?”

Kurt speaks quietly, directly into Puck’s ear. “I can do it because I know I’m not alone.” He wraps his arms even more tightly around Puck and hugs him close. “And now you’re not alone, either. Not anymore.”

 

  
**XII**   


“Shhh,” Kurt learns forward and whispers into Puck’s ear. “They’ll hear you and then I’m pretty sure my dad will kill you right on the spot.”

“Damn, babe,” Puck mutters back, “you can’t expect me to be quiet when you’re doing that.”

“Well, try harder,” Kurt says, stroking his hand up the length of Puck’s cock. The moan that comes out of Puck doesn’t remotely qualify as quiet, but at least it’s quiet-ER. Kurt presses forward so his chest rests against Puck’s. He kisses Puck slowly, nudging his mouth open, running just the tip of his tongue along Puck’s lower lip. Kurt wraps his hand around Puck’s cock and moves it, hard and fast, suddenly slamming his mouth hard against Puck’s.

Puck moans into Kurt’s mouth, which muffles the sound and only encourages Kurt to move his hand faster. Kurt feels Puck arch his back and rock his hips forward, thrusting himself through Kurt’s closed fist. Kurt breaks the kiss and puts his mouth against Puck’s ear again, whispering words of encouragement, little nonsense sounds just so Puck can hear his voice and feel Kurt’s warm breath against his neck.

Puck lips his hips up off the bed and cries out, and it’s too loud, but Kurt doesn’t care, because Puck is digging his fingertips into Kurt’s shoulders, Puck is coming hard and hot all over Kurt’s hand, and in that shuddering moment in the dark, Kurt is willing to risk everything, anything at all, to bring Puck to that ending.

 **XIII**

[this one makes me a little verklempt, because on day 13, there was no marriage equality in New York. On day 24, there was]

Iowa, Connecticut, or DC. Those seemed like the most reasonable choices.

Puck lobbied for Iowa, because “it’s closest and we can get right to the important stuff.” Kurt’s first choice was DC, because he’d always wanted to visit the city and, of the three locations, DC had the most things to do. Puck pointed out that they wouldn’t be doing much outside of their hotel room, unless, of course, Kurt had finally changed his mind about that “sex in public places” thing (Puck was willing to change it to a “sex at historical places” thing if it would change Kurt’s mind). Kurt swatted Puck on the shoulder, annoyed, and then sighed when he discovered DC’s five day waiting period.

Ultimately, they settled on Connecticut, where everything can happen within about 24 hours. It was only a 600 mile drive to New Haven, doable in a day, and that night they sat on the waterfront and ate fried seafood. The next morning, they got their license, then strolled through New Haven’s art galleries, then ate fried seafood. The second morning, they were at the Justice of the Peace the moment he opened shop, and after that, the new Misters Hummel-Puckerman did, in fact, spend the rest of their trip in the hotel room…with the occasional foray for more fried seafood.

 

  
**XIV: Chicagoland II**   


Kurt loves dancing, which is usually fine for Puck, because Puck loves watching Kurt dance. It’s a time when Kurt is at peace, so Puck is at peace. Kurt’s mad boundless energy could set him writhing and sweating on the dance floor for hours. Puck is content to sit at the bar and watch his boy dance. Kurt reminds Puck of a Pink Floyd song, one that used to play on the classic rock station at night back in Lima. Kurt shines like the sun on the dance floor.

After the club, when they get home, Kurt almost rips Puck’s clothes in the frenzy to get them off. Kurt’s eyes are like black holes in the sky; they don’t look at Puck, but through him. The frantic sex that follows can’t be termed “making love” by even the most romantic person. It’s fucking, plain and simple. It’s all Puck can do to keep up with Kurt, his raver, his seer of visions.

They lie together on the bed, damp with sweat and come and, though Puck would never admit it, tears. Kurt’s vibrates and whirls and shudders in his sleep. Puck wraps his arms around Kurt, shushing him and calming him. Even in sleep, Kurt shines, but not like a sun. In Puck’s arms, Kurt shines like a crazy diamond.

 

  
**XV: A Form!Verse Future Ficlet**   


At the end of the day, I watch him while he sleeps. He’d laugh at me if he knew, but he’s always been the heavier sleeper. I wake up at the sound of our cat walking down the hallway. He sleeps through tornado sirens, thunder, the New York Philharmonic (it’s true; it happened on our second visit). He sleeps through kisses on his eyelids. He sleeps through fingers being run through his short curls. He sleeps through his name whispered in his ear. If he’s tired enough, he’s even been known to sleep through 75% of a blowjob, though he’ll wake up for the last 25%.

Awake, he’s brag and swagger. He’s loud and he moves his arms too much when he talks. He says things he probably shouldn’t and he doesn’t feel guilty about it. He still, after all these years, has the manners of a street urchin. He’s terrible at apologizing. He cracked my best coffee mug and he stretched out my dress shoes because he needed a pair and couldn’t find his own. He loves without reservation or embarrassment. He has to touch and hold the things he loves. None of this has changed from childhood.

Yet, at the end of the day, he’s mine. He chose me and I chose him, and if I stay awake a little longer to watch how his long, dark eyelashes flicker against his cheeks or how his fingers curl in his dreams, well, there are worse ways to end the day.

 

  
**XVI:A Form!Verse Ficlet**   


This is the point where Kurt realizes something about Monday nights.

All those Mondays, those dozens of cumulative Mondays, spent watching movies with Puck and playing video games with Puck and being sprawled on by Puck—those Mondays meant something to the both of them. Kurt had guessed as much, but he thought it was just a gradual growth of friendship; now, he suspects something different was happening and he just hadn’t noticed it.

Kurt remembers when Puck yelled at him that they weren’t friends. Kurt was hurt at the time, but now he sees that Puck was right. They aren’t friends. That’s really not what this is. It’s not what it’s ever been. The time spent getting to know each other, talking and laughing and just getting comfortable with each other’s there-ness , it was like a first date in slow motion. The world’s longest first date.

And now that date is over and Kurt has to decide if he’s ready to start the second one. He picks up the phone and dials Puck’s number.

 

  
**XVII**   


“One more time. Tell it one more time.”

 _Sigh_. “Ok. One more time and then bed. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince who lived all alone in a castle—“

“No, a tower!”

“ _Fine_. A beautiful prince who lived in a tower. He was very sad and all alone, and his tower was surrounded by all kinds of horrible monsters—“

“What kind?”

“All kinds of monsters. Dragons and trolls and hockey players and lions and camels—“

“No camels.”

“Ok, ok. No camels, but all that other stuff, definitely. The prince wanted nothing more than to escape the tower and ride away to a new and beautiful land, where they don’t allow things like dragons and trolls and hockey players and—“

“You already said all those!”

“ _Ok_ , fine. A land where they don’t allow all that stuff. The prince couldn’t get out of the tower, though, so one day, he caught a beautiful blue bird—“

“White one.”

“He caught a beautiful white bird and he taught it to sing a song. The song was a magic song and it would bring his own true love to the tower, where they would fight all the dragons and trolls and—“

“Get to the good part!”

“Ok, ok. So the prince taught the bird the song. He sang the song to the bird a hundred times a day until the bird knew how to sing the whole song, and then he set the bird free. The bird had to fly a far, far way, looking for the prince’s own true love, but finally, the bird found him and—“

“What’d he look like?”

“He didn’t look like much, really. He was just a simple peasant, but when he heard the prince’s song, his heart filled up with light and he had the power to fight all of the dragons and—“

“NEXT PART!”

“The peasant with the heart full of light jumped on his horse and rode and rode until he reached the prince’s tower. When he got there, he called up to the prince, ‘Hey? You still up there, dude?’ and the prince said—“

“Tell it right!”

“Fine. The peasant said, ‘I have come to rescue you,’ but the prince said, ‘I don’t need to be rescued! I just didn’t want to do it all by myself,’ so the peasant and the beautiful prince both got their swords and they fought all the monsters together and killed _every last one_ , and they live—“

“Don’t skip it!”

“Ok. So the beautiful prince took the peasant in his arms and they kissed underneath the beautiful sunset, and then both of their hearts were full of song and light, and they lived happily ever after.”

“The end, Daddy?”

“That’s right, baby,” Puck said, kissing their daughter on the forehead. “The end.”

“Same story again tonight?” Kurt whispers, when Puck walks into the hallway.

“Every night, babe,” Puck says, taking Kurt in his arms. “Happily ever after every night.”

 

  
**XVIII**   


Puck shifts uncomfortably in his chair in the choir room. “Hey, Hummel,” he says to Kurt, sitting behind him. “How about you rub this knot in my shoulder?”

“How about…no?” Kurt says, clearly not even interested in considering it.

“Come on, man!” Puck whines. “It’s damn near killing me. Please? Pleeeease?”

“Will it stop your incessant whining?”

“Definitely.”

“Fine then,” Kurt sighs dramatically, leaning over and, with a most professional air, places his hands on the other boy’s shoulders. Kurt massages across Puck’s back, feeling around until he locates the hard knot in the muscle. Kurt digs his thumbs into knot; Puck groans and relaxes his neck, head tipping forward until his chin is on his chest.

Finally, all the tension leaves Puck’s shoulders and his muscles are smooth and soft under Kurt’s hands, so Kurt takes his hands off of Puck’s back and sits back against his own chair. Puck turns around and scowls at Kurt.

“Now what?” Kurt snaps, rolling his eyes. “What could you possibly want?”

Puck sticks his lower lip out into a pout and asks, “What about my happy ending?”

 

  
**XIX: A Form!Verse Ficlet**   


“I’m just not ready for it to be over,” Puck says from where he’s sprawled, face down, on Kurt’s bed…on top of the covers of course, because Puck values his life and the integrity of all his limbs and appendages. Kurt’s in his closet—that stopped being funny to Puck after about the third time he witnesses it—rifling through his clothing to find the perfect ensemble for the next day.

“Well,” Kurt says, loudly enough for Puck to hear him, “we had a good run of it. Can’t delay the inevitable. Besides, what does tomorrow mean?”

“Another year of boredom, anguish, and torture? The end of our completely awesome summer together?” Puck looks and sounds miserable.

Kurt makes a little pshaw sound. “Oh, Puck. Sometimes your foresight is so limited. It’s the beginning of the last year, the very last year, that we are stuck in this little town. Tomorrow isn’t just the end of summer; it’s the beginning of a countdown to the end of Lima.”

“Beginning?” Puck perks up a little bit at the thought.

“Yes,” Kurt answers, smiling. “Beginning.”

“Beginning are good,” Puck says, and gives Kurt a dirty little grin. “I like startin’ stuff.”

 

  
**XX**   


“I can’t sleep. Can you sleep?”

“Hell no, I can’t sleep. What kind of stupid-ass question is that?”

“Puck, you’re going to have to work on the language, you know. We don’t want her picking up that kind of talk.”

“Why the hell not? I talk perfectly good.”

“Puck! Seriously, sometimes I just don’t know what to do with you, I swear.”

“Loving me is good. You can do that with me.”

“Yes, there is that. It’s just…It’s all going to change tomorrow. Everything is going to be different.”

“Different isn’t bad, babe.”

“No, but…I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Becoming parents is huge. What if we’re horrible at it? What if we mess everything up? What if she’s traumatized for life and we have to pay thousands of dollars for therapy?”

“Or what if we’re exactly the parents she needs and she’s completely and totally loved and turns out just fine?”

“I like your version better.”

“Of course you do, babe. I always was the smart one."

“As long as I can still be the pretty one.”

“Never gonna hear me argue about that one, K. Ooh, look! Sky’s getting lighter.”

“Our last pre-child dawn.”

“Since you’re not sleeping anyway, whatcha say we make the most of it?”

“Best idea I’ve heard all night, Puck.”

 

 **XXI: A Dead in Ohio ficlet** [prompt: The most dangerous thing in the world is too much safety.]

The biggest problem with small-town Ohio isn’t the boredom, the ignorance, the intolerance of anything different than what they, in their narrow range of experiences, consider normal or good. No, the biggest problem with small-town Ohio is how incredibly underprepared they are for the end of the world.

Urbanites always suspected something would happen. In big cities, you get used to finding ways to avoid other people, to living without support, to feeling unsafe and keeping an eye out for danger. In small towns, however, there’s so much dependence on others, too much social interconnectedness, too much of a believe that they live in such a wholesome and safe place. The most dangerous thing in the world is too much safety.

Maybe that’s why Kurt and Puck have lasted this long, despite their lack of practical skills. Puck is too used to threatening others to buy into the small-town safety and Kurt has never felt particularly safe in Lima. Practical skills can be learned on the go, and honestly, using a shotgun or an axe isn’t nearly as complicated as getting over the mindfuck of double-tapping the zombie who used to be your chemistry teacher.

Holed up in the walk-in freezer of an abandoned McDonald’s, knowing the world is being devoured around them, Puck and Kurt sit back to back, taking turns catnapping and eating pickles from a canister. They’re two weeks into the end of the world and it didn’t take them long to find their rhythm together. Eat, sleep, switch location, avoid and/or kill zombies. They haven’t started fucking yet, but it’s only a matter of time. They’re the only world they have left and the press of a familiar body, whatever the history, is a damn fine thing at the end.

 

  
**XXII: Endings/Breakups crossover pt 1**   


Puck’s hands slide around Kurt’s chest and pull him back up onto his hands and knees. Kurt arches his back against Puck, who holds him tightly.

“You have to tell him,” Puck whispers into Kurt’s ear as he pushes his cock deeper into Kurt. “You’ve gotta end it.” Kurt moans and presses his face into the pillow, shaking his head back and forth violently.

“No. Nononono. Stop talking and keep doing that,” Kurt gasps out. “Please. Please.”

Puck will do anything for Kurt, anything at all, especially when he has Kurt shuddering beneath him like this, so Pucks stops talking and keeps thrusting into Kurt’s tight heat. Kurt grabs the sheets in his fingers, cries out in time to Puck’s movements.

“Babe,” Puck pants, pushing his face against Kurt’s neck. “You have to. We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep on—oh fuck, move like that again—sneaking around like this.”

“Stop talking about him,” Kurt moans, sounding desperately close. “Just—oh god oh god—please just stop talking about it.”

“You have to end it and you know it. Tomorrow. Promise me you’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Promise me you won’t stop,” Kurt begs, his voice breaking with need.

“I’ll stop if you don’t promise,” Puck says, his voice low and dirty. He wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock. “Promise.”

“I promise, I promise,” Kurt cries out as Puck drives into him hard, and he keeps crying out, “I promise” as he comes all over Puck’s hand and “I promise” as Puck explodes inside him.

Afterward, Puck curls his body around Kurt’s slight frame, kissing him on his pale neck, holding him tight. Kurt presses his body back against Puck’s and whispers, “You always make me promise to break it off with Blaine.”

Puck smiles sadly, knowing Kurt can’t see his face, and whispers back, “And one day, I’ll actually hold you to it.”

 

  
**XXIII: Ending/Breakup crossover pt 2**   


“I can’t do this anymore,” Puck says, pressing his face into Kurt’s neck. Kurt moans a little and his hands go to fly of Puck’s jeans, struggling w/ the button. Puck gentle pulls Kurt’s hands off of him, forces Kurt back a little so they have some space between them.

“No,” Puck says. “Not playing this time. I can’t keep on like this, Kurt.”

“You always say that,” Kurt says, smiling a little. “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard it.” His smile trembles and then fades at the look on Puck’s face.

“This time I mean it, Kurt. I can’t keep being your safety net like this. I can’t be the place you go when things are bad at home,” Puck says, roughly.

“But you told me you’d always be my safe place,” Kurt responds, his voice low. His eyes start to shimmer with tears.

“Babe, I want to be, but this is killing me. It breaks my heart every time you go home to him. It breaks my heart that you only come to be to fill in the little holes in your life. I’m dying from this, Kurt, and I—”

“I’ll do it,” Kurt says. “I’m going home right now and I’m ending it.”

“Oh, babe,” Puck sighs. “I wish I believed it this time, but I just can’t. If you go, you won’t come back again for days and when you do it’ll be just like this all over again.”

“Then I won’t go this time,” Kurt says, lifting his chin stubbornly and pulling out his phone. He dials Blaine’s number. Puck watches him, lips pressed together, because he still can’t believe it.

“Blaine,” Kurt says. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be coming back tonight…”

As Kurt breaks it off with Blaine, Puck feels his bruised heart start hoping again.

 

  
**XXIV**   


“I don’t know,” Puck says, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “I’m just not sure it’s that realistic.”

“Oh?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your problem with it exactly?”

“I mean…look at these characters,” Puck insists. “They’re such stereotypes. I mean, that one guy with the black tank top, he’s got some guns on him and he looks totally straight. And what’s up with the scarves and the silky shirts on that other guy? Just because you’re gay, it doesn’t mean you have to dress like that!”

“Hey, Puck?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re getting popcorn all over your black tank top.”

“Oh, shit, thanks, babe!” Puck says. “That’s a really nice scarf, by the way.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Ok, ok,” Puck says, throwing up his hands. “I’ll watch the end of the episode!”

 

  
**XXV: Pride**   


Puck gets the text while he’s sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a glass of milk.

 _It passed. I’ll be there in 15. Pack something colorful._

Kurt arrives in 13.5 minutes, which is eight minutes longer than it took Puck to pack his bag. The bag contains: two changes of underwear, a black t-shirt, a red t-shirt, a toothbrush, a box of condoms, a bottle of lube, a strand of purple Mardi Gras beads, just because, and a small black box. Kurt has a large suitcase in the back of the Navigator and a toiletries bag the same size as the bag holding everything Puck brought.

They take turns driving all night, only stop when they need to for food, bathroom, gas, or “we crossed a state line” sex, and make it to the city in just under 12 hours. That they are able to find a hotel room is a miracle at best, but they deposit their bags and head into the city. Rainbows festoon buildings and light posts and half-naked bodies. After Lima, it’s paradise on earth.

Kurt slips his arm around Puck’s waist and looks at him, “Happy first Pride together, Puck.”

Puck pulls Kurt into a deep kiss and then drops to one knee. Rainbow sequin confetti rains down on them as Puck pulls out the box.

 

  
**XXVI**   


“Do you think we’ll get this kind of turn out at our wedding?” Kurt whispers to Puck as they stand at the front of the temple alongside Finn. Puck ever-so-subtly elbows Kurt in the ribs.

“Shh. It’s not a competition, babe.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

They hear the music queue up and Kurt and Puck both straighten and plaster on their groomsmen smiles. The bridesmaids start streaming down the aisle and Finn seems to be holding up ok until suddenly, Rachel appears. Kurt sees Finn’s knees start to buckle a little and puts out a hand to steady his brother.

“Hang in there, Finn,” Kurt whispers to him. “She’ll be all yours in a minute.”

Finn beams a huge grin back at Kurt and does seem steadier. Rachel looks beautiful and the dress, which Kurt was happy to help her shop for, is perfectly flattering. The ceremony is longer than Kurt expected and some of it is Hebrew, which Kurt doesn’t speak, so his mind starts to wander. He thinks about how they all started out, the paths they walked to get to this point, and he looks over his shoulder at Puck, his unlikely love.

In defiance of all rules of groomsmen--not that the rules are really set up all that well for gay groomsmen--Kurt reaches back and takes Puck’s hand and holds it for the rest of the ceremony.

 

  
**XXVII**   


It’s always variations on a theme. The details change, but the plot stays the same: Puck, Kurt, and the hottest damn kiss ever. Sometimes the setting is familiar and mundane; Puck kissing Kurt in the McKinley courtyard, Puck pushing Kurt against the 50 yard line on the football field, Puck and Kurt tumbling into the shadowy wings of the amphitheatre. Sometimes, like tonight, the setting is more exotic, and Puck pulls Kurt into the clear, crashing waves on some tropical island that Puck has only ever seen on television.

When Puck wakes up, he thinks--not for the first time--what a shame it is for the dream to be over. He wonders what he’ll have to do to turn the dreams into a reality. He wonders how hard it will be to convince Kurt to be the man of his dreams.

 

  
**XXVIII**   


Puck doesn't usually drink, and when he does, he doesn't usually get drunk. Tonight, though, Puck is inebriated bordering on shit-faced and only planning on getting drunker before the night is over. When everything you believed about your life comes crashing down, what is there to do but get wasted and/or waste yourself? Puck has chosen the first option, but is keeping the second on the table, just in case.

He's close to blacking out when his phone rings. Puck considers not answering it, because if it's her, he can't handle it. He can't survive another round of name-calling and accusations. He can't handle listening and knowing she's right.

Puck will never know for sure why he picked up the phone. Call it self-preservation. Call it a sign from God. Call it whatever, but Puck fumbles the phone in his hands and finally mumbles, "Hello?"

"Puck?" asks a familiar voice, and Puck thinks it might be Kurt, sweet little Kurt from McKinley, from the days when neither Puck nor anyone else realized what a lie Puck was living. Sweet, kind Kurt, calling Puck on this night of all nights.

"Puck?" Kurt repeats. "I'd ask if you're ok, but you aren't, are you?"

Puck breaks down with a heaving sob. "She left me. She knows, I don't know how she knows, but she knows. I tried so hard not to be! I tried so hard..." He can't continue.

Kurt sighs deeply and in a strong, gentle voice says, "It might be over, but you aren't. You're just starting."

For the first time in two days, Puck feels a little relief. "Could...could you come out here, just be here with me for a while."

"I'll be on the next plane," Kurt promises, and maybe Puck's world isn't ending after all.

 

  
**XXIX**   


"I hate when vacation is over," Kurt complains. "Coming back to reality is such a letdown."

"Aww, babe," Puck says, patting Kurt on the shoulder affectionately. "It's not so bad."

"No more room service. No more exotic cuisine. No more gorgeous sunsets."

"But you always miss your own bed," Puck reminds him, and Kurt had to nod, because it's true.

"Leave it to you to make the end of the vacation sound good," Kurt says, and smiles.

 

  
**XXX: Ever After**   


Sometimes Kurt feels like he shouldn’t be here. Like he couldn’t possibly be this lucky.

He looks back at his life like someone might look at a box of photographs. People he’s loved, people he’s hurt, people he’s lost, all in a little stack in his mind. High school and its myriad tortures are long behind him. He graduated college with honors, he has a career he loves, a husband he treasures, happy and well-adjusted children, close friends, extended family.

How did the little gay boy from Ohio come so far? It feels like a dream and some nights, Kurt is afraid to go to sleep out of fear he’ll wake up in the morning and he’ll be sixteen and back in Lima, crying in bathroom stalls so no one can see that they can crack the perfect surface of his composure. Sometimes the ache over what might have been hits him like a sudden rainstorm and he has to find Puck and wrap his arms around him to believe he’s real, that this is real.

Kurt finds Puck sitting out on the porch with a beer, watching the sun setting, and Puck only has to look at Kurt’s face to know the look, the one that means “please remind me I deserve this life.” Puck pulls Kurt down into his lap without saying anything and just holds him tightly. Kurt tips his head over onto Puck’s shoulder and watches the last sliver of sun sink below the horizon.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I have all this,” Kurt whispers. “I can’t believe all the bad is behind me. I can’t stop thinking there’s something horrible lurking around a corner, waiting to take it all away. Promise me that isn’t going to happen?”

“Can’t promise nothing bad’s ever gonna happen, babe,” Puck says, pressing a kiss against the top of Kurt’s head. “But I can promise that no matter what, I’m gonna be here with you. You and me, we’re a team, we’re stuck together, ‘til the bitter end.”

“’Til the bitter end?” Kurt repeats, with a watery smile.

“You bet your sweet ass,” Puck says. “The bitter end, the perfect end, or any end in between. That’s us, babe. Ever after, no matter what.”

Kurt relaxes in Puck’s arms and together, they watch the fading streaks of red and pink give way to stars.


End file.
